


Accident, Impulse, Affection

by hannahbbug3



Series: Breaking the Ice [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Coronation, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Path of Radiance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:49:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6262915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahbbug3/pseuds/hannahbbug3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She stood by him in the frozen air, feeling strange. This night had changed them both, for tonight they were not soldiers as they had been a month ago, not victors as they were two weeks ago, not even tacticians, positions which they both still held. They were just two people. The night slowly drained away everything else.</p>
<p>"It's... it's a nice night."</p>
<p>"I despise this season."</p>
<p> Lucia-centric, Soren/Lucia</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accident, Impulse, Affection

**Author's Note:**

> This is another fic I wrote ages ago and am relocating to this site. The original was posted under this same name on both dA and FF.net. This one shot led to something huge, and I will be updating this series regularly!

The moon bathed everything in a glow of sepia the night of the coronation. Something about that color stuck in her memory as she thought back on it now, all that had happened that evening. It was on this night that she had first spoken to the dour mage that seemed more like a shadow than a man, with the crimson eyes that glimmered as they took in the room before him; the man her thoughts were consumed with from the moment she saw him.

Lucia had not noticed him at the start of the night. He'd remained out of view in the corners of the Great Hall, drifting between the door that offered the quickest exit and the corner which gathered the most shadows in the room.

But once she saw him, she studied him a while. He was not tall or of any notable build. In fact, he did not even appear to have a healthy complexion. But the dark green dress robes he wore did not wash him out - rather, they fit him well, and seemed only to add to the strange image that had her so bewitched.

But his most striking feature was his eyes. If they were said to be the windows of the soul, these red irises bore the glow of a soul that held to the consciousness of life with almost fearsome strength. While the eyes of other men were clouded as they escorted women to the dance floor amid the humming of string and wind instruments, or gazed longingly at those that they wished to hold, this man's eyes were striking for another reason entirely. They did not roam; they pierced. He took in his surroundings with intentional glances and even from here she could sense the anxiety he hid in a façade of tight, calm demeanor.

She was also acutely aware that none of his glances had flitted in her direction.

She held no grudge against him for this. Tonight was, after all, Queen Elincia’s coronation party, and there were dozens of other women to entertain a man's vision. But she knew that her appearance did not warrant his seeming indifference. While she was nothing compared to the golden beauty that was the Queen that night, her silver gown fit her slender frame perfectly, and the long blue hair that normally fell to outline her face had been twisted into a single, curling plait. Jade powder had been rubbed over her sapphire eyes, and the necklace of silver and emerald which encircled her throat completed the picture that made her the envy of numerous eyes in the Hall.

She was distracted from the stranger as the Queen took the hand of a familiar unassuming General and moved towards the dance floor, the crowd parting before them in a ripple. She smiled at the small buzz of amused whispers that rose just before a violin broke into the loping 3/4 tempo of a waltz. Couples clustered together at once to join the pair, and she couldn’t help but feel a bit left out. It wasn’t for a lack of offers of course, and she wondered that, if she should have accepted one of the hands that presented themselves, this feeling would've abated. Yet, it was another person that held her attention this night, and she turned away every man that approached her as she moved to resume her quiet contemplation of the stranger in the corner.

Yet, like a ghost, he had vanished.

She gave a start, her once calmly poised figure becoming stiff with surprise. She stood at once, consumed with the task of finding him. She murmured apologies to the dancing couples that her shoulders bumped as she wove a path to the corner where he had spent the night. It was still empty.

Her gaze moved back to the dance floor, wondering if he had partnered up with some young woman that had given him reason enough to join the celebration. But she remembered the unease with which he had viewed the proceedings of the crowd. He was more than just a stranger to her – he seemed to have been a stranger to this situation entirely, not knowing where to place himself besides the corner. Like she, he had only been watching, and looking at the exit. She realized that he had probably chosen to leave.

She questioned the people nearby on the stranger, if they had seen where he’d gone, but they only regarded her with a slightly amused (or jealous, for who was this man that had won the interest of the Queen’s sister?) expression and reported they had seen no such man. She began to wonder if he actually had been a ghost, or some other figment of her imagination. She had, after all, mistaken him for a shadow.

She sighed and gave up the search. She moved towards the open doors leading the balcony, where she would once again be alone in the cold winter air. Imagine the surprise that caused her to jump when a willowy hand placed itself on her shoulder.

"Were you looking for me, Lady Lucia?"

She whirled around, her blue eyes catching a flash of red before the man continued to walk past her, into the frosty night. A slight inclination of his head showed his wish for her company. As she joined him, he picked up the conversation.

"...I find it odd to think about how long you have been watching me tonight, when you never took any special interest before."

"Before? But I—" Her words halted abruptly as she realized. She knew this languid face, which held stubbornly to its child-like proportions. She knew this quiet figure, had seen it in the gaps between tents at the army's encampment, as she wandered after the Queen and he wandered after the General. She recognized the hushed, yet firm, lilt of this voice from the briefings between battles.

But she had never known him like this. He seemed, by some means, transformed by the night. He was familiar to her, yet he felt so different. Never before had he been anything like approachable, and she did not think she’d ever wanted to speak to him before. Certainly his harsh manner deterred her after their first and only conversation. But this night seemed to have tamed him somehow. Perhaps the bitter air outside made the mage seem sweeter company than he really was. And yet, he’d spoken, and not been harsh. So she stayed.

She thought about the war. She had indeed known him back then. She recalled now, the image she had built of this stranger in her head. This mage was General Ike’s tactician and stalwart companion. In fact, when she first thought of him, she didn’t place his name, but his moniker – “the Commander’s Shadow.” Despite his somewhat brash manner, she recalled being struck by the deep connection and loyalty this man shared with Ike. She had been envious of it, in truth. She had always meant to show her sister the same devotion, but the Commander and his tactician had always seemed to operate on the same wavelength. What she wouldn’t give for that connection with not just her liege, but anyone. It fascinated her. Perhaps that was what drew her in now.

She stood by him in the frozen air, feeling strange. This night had changed them both, for tonight they were not soldiers as they had been a month ago, not victors as they were two weeks ago, not even tacticians, positions which they both still held. They were just two people. The night slowly drained away everything else.

He waited in silence as she recalled his name. "Soren."

She thought she saw the shadow of a smile pass over his face, though his look of indifference returned quickly. So, he was glad that she'd remembered... he was not given to expression, but that smile was more telling than he probably realized.

"I despise dances. They are pointless, and the only people that they attract are stuffy nobles who brag that it was "only by their status" that they were invited and women who believe themselves to be the center of the universe."

She could not help the laugh that escaped her. There was the curt manner she had been expecting, and yet his topic of conversation was so unexpected that she found it funny. But when he did not react, she assumed that he did not take offense. "You are not in one of those groups?"

"Certainly not."

"Then how is it that you managed to find yourself here tonight?" she asked, regarding him with something like warmth. It had been obvious enough that the slim tactician certainly did not want to be here tonight. His attempts to melt into the walls hadn’t slipped her notice, after all. So she had to wonder why he’d even come in the first place. She had to suspect that his much more social companion had strong-armed him into attending.

"I received an invitation, along with the rest of the Greil Mercenaries. I simply did the appropriate action and accepted." He shifted slightly, and then spoke again. "To be quite honest, I do not think we belong here."

"Ike's a Lord." And more than that, she thought to herself, thoughts straying to the fact that the lowborn was currently dancing with the newly crowned Queen. It was no shock to those who’d fought in the war that the Greil Mercenaries were in attendance tonight. Most of them figured that it was only right that they be here. They were, after all, the ones that had turned the tide of the war. Without them, there would be no Queen Elincia. Perhaps no Crimea. And still, that a commoner had achieved the rank of noble was a shock to some… including Soren, it seemed.

His laughter was short and clipped. "Who would've thought? Lord Ike? Giving him that title is about the strangest thing I could have imagined. It would be like calling you a peasant. Couldn’t be farther from the truth..." he closed his eyes, leaning onto the stone rail.

She blushed at the comment. Had he perhaps intended that last bit as a compliment? Her mind scrambled to find words to fill the silence that yawned between them. "Certainly you must've had another reason to come other than courtesy, though?"

"What else is needed?"

It hadn't really been an answer, move of an evasion than anything else. Her heart fluttered softly, but she did not know why. His eyes had roamed over to her just after he spoke. Why had this simple action taken away her ability to speak? It crossed her mind that even though she had forgotten Soren’s identity tonight, perhaps he hadn’t been as aloof as she’d originally thought. She didn’t want to sound so vain, but she couldn’t help the thought that maybe he had come for her, and not only out of some sense of duty. After all, he had been the one to ultimately seek her out.

He cleared his throat and turned forward again, looking out over the stretch of plain bordered by the forest that was the view from this side of the castle. Behind them was the citadel, and more directly the party, which reached their ears even though they’d removed themselves from it. "The musicians are playing wonderfully," he offered after a moment more, opening the conversation again.

She gave a nod to his words. They were unexpected – she didn’t think the mage was one to compliment lightly, but perhaps he was just looking for something, anything, to say. "They are,” she agreed. “Soren, do you dance?" She did not know where the question had come from. Her heart spurred her voice as soon as she’d had the question.

His lips twitched once again, upwards. "I know how."

"That's... that's, well, good. Considering the event," she pointed out, nodding to the open doors behind them. The musicians had moved on to a pavane, a simple enough dance and one that she assumed the mage wouldn’t be uncomfortable with. The steps only required the touching of their hands, after all. He had always seemed so wrapped up in himself that she figured the distance would give him security. This was probably the reason he’d stuck to the corner of the room all night.

His smile filled out a bit more, and remained as he spoke. "Yes, considering."

She stood in silence, hoping for him to ask before the song ended. She would say yes. She knew that he knew this, too. But still he hesitated… maybe she had misread.

The song ended, and the question didn't come. The air between them seemed heavy as the silence stretched on before a new melody wafted out from the open doors. It seemed an eternity ago that she had been seated inside, rather than perched out here in the raw winter night. But she was more comfortable out here than she had been all evening.

She cleared her throat.

"It's... it's a nice night."

"I despise this season."

She evaluated his terse reply, looking him over once again. He nearly blended into the night, and remained turned away from her. She found this curious. Though he was by no means a social butterfly, he had always been polite. He knew the science of conversation – she had recognized this fact in those meetings during the war. He even knew something of the art; she recalled those instances in which he spoke fluidly, poetic phrases learned from books and recited from the mouths of others. He was not normally so hesitant in his speech... Was there something wrong?

"Is that so?" she questioned, giving him leave to explain himself. And yet, when he did, his response was just as measured.

"Winter only brings death."

"So, then, it must be spring you like."

"...I sometimes envy people who can find pleasure in such simple things."

This was a curious answer. And yet, she wondered if she should have expected it from the stone-faced young man. He had always seemed so grim – perhaps it was because he hadn’t found anything yet that caused him to smile. She decided to try and tease out the answer for herself.

"Isn't there anything that you do like?"

The pause in conversation startled her. For a full ten seconds after she spoke, the silence reigned. She looked to him, fearing the question may have been received as offensive. He remained bent away, stubbornly quiet. She cautiously spoke. "Soren?"

He turned quickly. "Lady Lucia, would you care for a dance?"

She had not realized the hour that they'd been out here. Those endless silences must've built in spans of tens of minutes in time. The music from the ball had faded, though voices could still be heard, talking… the feast had started.

But she nodded and extended her hand. He took it, and the two took a few steps around the balcony, their bodies close, but not touching. Every so often, she would tarry a fraction of a second in her step, and he would run into her. She would mutter an apology, blushing not quite out of shame or embarrassment. She guessed that he knew this. Why else would he continue to twirl with her to the whistle of the wind swirling snow flurries around them? Why would he not immediately pull away and declare this a waste of his time?

Before she knew what she was doing, her mouth was pressed to his. His lips were chapped and cold, reminding her of the night. Everything was cast in sepia, and she made an intentional memory.

He jerked away a second later, red eyes wide and startled. He was blushing and there was the imprint of her rouged lips on his. It made something like mortification prickle through her stomach to see him like this.

"Ashera, Soren... I-" she began, but words once again would not come. Was he angry? She took a small step back, only to have him grab her wrist and pull her in.

His lips crashed into hers.

She felt the blood rush to her face once again, but she did not pull back. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, and, similarly, his slid to rest on her hips. Her pulse quickened, heart feeling as if it might pulse right out of her chest. He was certainly no experienced kisser, he did not seem to know what to do with himself, but that was all right. The most she could process was that he was so, so close. His hands- his lips- Soren.

As abruptly as it started, the kiss ended.

She pulled back, breathless, and melted under his scarlet gaze. But he quickly turned away, his cheeks not red, but white.

"I... apologize."

She frowned and the fluttering butterflies in her stomach turned to lead stones. Had he not meant to return her affection? She reached out to him, and his shoulder tensed with her touch. She wondered at this - had he expected something other than the light touch of her fingers?

"It was wonderful."

His face lifted once again and his eyes scoured her, searching for truth. Whatever test he was subjecting her to, she seemed to pass, for a moment later his features softened. She let her hand rest on the balcony rail, and was not surprised when his fell over it. Even so, the action made her heart pick up pace once again.

"You think so?" his voice was hesitant, afraid to be deceived by her words. Yet he did not look away due to shyness nor anything else, like a lesser man may have done. She smiled.

"I loved it."

His expression shifted to bear a thin smile, full of mystery and promise. "Then... to answer your question."

"What do you like?" she repeated, once again feeling the heat of a blush overtake her cheeks.

He leaned in once again, and she was ready for him this time. The kiss was brief, but her lips were tingling when they pulled apart.

"...you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more!


End file.
